


A Single-Minded, Long-Term Fixation

by Marks



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Angst, Hatesex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-29
Updated: 2005-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/pseuds/Marks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry hopes for the best, expects the worst. Set and written post-HBP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Single-Minded, Long-Term Fixation

**Author's Note:**

> This was my very first post-HBP fic longer than a drabble. The way Harry dealt with Draco during _Half-Blood Prince_ killed me with possibility, so I had to get something down.

Godric's Hollow is nothing like he'd pictured it. There's no pile of rubble, or magically protected monument to his parents' sacrifice. It's a tiny little town; the houses and gardens look the same, all the kids can be found in the park, and there's nothing to do without travelling to the nearest city. It looks like nothing bad has ever happened here or ever will, and even the persistent, grey, ever-chilly mist swirling around his ankles doesn't dispel that notion.

Nothing's gone the way he's planned since Dumbledore died. Ron and Hermione have been delayed after Bill and Fleur's wedding, running interference with their parents (Harry knows Mrs Weasley wanted to stop him, too, but he's two days past seventeen now, not that she could have really stopped him before); Snape has vanished without a trace, probably licking Voldemort's toes again; and the secrets Harry thinks Godric's Hollow ought to hold apparently don't exist. Going to his parents' graves by himself was unbearably lonely, but he knows it doesn't do him any good to dwell on that.

He has a mission. A mission and five damned horcruxes to find.

Harry retreats to the tent he's set up in woods on the outskirts of town, waiting to see if Hedwig has brought any news about his friends' arrival. She's not there, but a nondescript brown barn owl is waiting for him, hooting impatiently. It sticks out its leg, and Harry takes the scroll attached.

_Help me._

That's all the message says, and Harry runs every revealing charm he can think of, though that amounts to nothing. Finally, more out of last-ditch desperation than anything, he scribbles _Who are you?_ onto the parchment. The ink is absorbed, and a very pale _\- D. M._ appears next to the original message.

Harry drops his quill in the dirt and scrambles away from the parchment as though someone is about to come crawling through it. Remembering Tom Riddle and his diary, that doesn't seem too far-fetched.

The brown barn owl is still waiting; it nips his fingers, though not viciously. Harry looks at it, and remembers red-rimmed eyes reflected in a mirror and a wand dropping a fraction of an inch.

He bites his lip and sighs, taking up the feather again and scribbling "How?" but no answer arrives. Another nip, so Harry rolls up the scroll and attaches it to the bird's leg. It takes off immediately, and Harry ends up more baffled than he began.

That doesn't stop him from searching the skies.

***

The next day is an exercise in waiting, in wasting time Harry doesn't really have. He doesn't think Voldemort will be able to find him here right away, but it's still not a good idea to stay in one place for too long. He cooks over an open flame, goes over notes that he and Hermione have made, practices wand movements without casting any unnecessary spells; he spends too much time wishing he didn't feel so alone, and then he sleeps. Just before sunset, the brown owl returns, and Hedwig does not. This scroll is nearly as short as the last, and Harry remembers how very much he doesn't like Draco Malfoy. Being cryptic doesn't help that much.

_I'll come to you. We need to talk._

Harry narrows his eyes. Yes, he knows that Malfoy wavered, and he remembers what he saw in that bathroom; he knows how grey and tired-looking Malfoy was most of the year. He's gone over the changes in Malfoy again and again because he's been trying not to think about Ron or Hermione or-- or Ginny, and that makes him focus on his enemies. And Malfoy, too, who -- if he's being honest with himself -- may not fit into that category anymore. Of course, just because _Harry_ knows all that doesn't mean _Malfoy_ does. Malfoy doesn't know Harry was on the top of the Astronomy Tower that night; he doesn't know that when Harry hurt him in that blood-stained bathroom, it was a mistake. He doesn't know that Harry tracked him, obsessed over him the entire _year_. That means this exchange is probably a trap.

Harry wants to throw out the parchment, _needs_ to rid himself of it.

He's going to any moment now. The brown owl hoots quizzically.

_Neutral place only,_ Harry writes. _Meet me at the Three Broomsticks--_ Harry scribbles that out, remembering the terrible thing Malfoy did to Madam Rosmerta -- in desperation, maybe, but he still _did_ it. He can't let himself forget that. _Meet me at the Hog's Head in one hour. If you're not there, this is done._

The brown owl flies off again. If Malfoy's more than an hour away, that's his problem, not Harry's; he ignores the horrible swooping sensation in his stomach.

_You're too _soft_, Harry,_ he berates himself as he packs up his things.

***

Harry arrives five minutes early, under his Invisibility Cloak. When he gets there, he sees the scraggly barman listlessly wiping down the counter and nagging familiarity tugs at him again. There's a hag arguing with a wizard who's nearly as scarred as Moody. Not one minute after he arrives, a skinny figure with his hood pulled over his head hustles inside and, even though Harry can't see his face, he just _knows_.

"Malfoy," he hisses, still hidden. Malfoy jumps at the sound of Harry's voice, though he tries to cover it up by shifting weight from one leg to the other. "Go outside and wait in the alley," continues Harry. "We can talk there."

"I can't be seen," Malfoy whispers out of the corner of his mouth.

Harry's now close enough to see the uncovered part of Malfoy's face, and he's struck by how drawn and pale the other boy is. "Like I can? Just go."

Malfoy, surprisingly, obeys, and Harry slips through the open door after him. Once he's in the alley, he tugs off his cloak and pulls his wand, throwing Malfoy against the wall. It's surprising how effective that move is if the fear on Malfoy's face is anything to go by.

"Talk," Harry says tersely.

Malfoy looks like he wants to dust off his robes, but Harry's proximity is making that an impossible task. He lifts his chin anyway, and Harry rewards that by shoving his wand right under it. "God, Potter," he drawls, sounding every bit the Same Old Malfoy, "please keep playing into every stereotype I have of you."

Harry knows it's bravado, since it's obvious which of them is in control here. "I can always leave," he says in a sing-song voice. The fear in Malfoy's eyes intensifies, and Harry needs to push down the urge to grin. There's no more following Malfoy around, no more obsessing; there's no need with him _right here_.

"D-- don't," Malfoy says, placing his hand on Harry's wand arm. His sleeve slips just enough to reveal the top of a sickening black skull. "I-- I can tell you things. I don't-- Dumbledore wanted to-- he said he'd protect me."

"Yeah, I know." If Malfoy is surprised by Harry's answer, his face doesn't show it. "But Dumbledore's dead, and it's your fault. I _know_ you let in the Death Eaters-- did you know I was there, immobilised? I couldn't _do_ anything, but I know everything that happened-- one trip to the Ministry with that Mark on your arm and my memory, and you'll be in Azkaban with your dear old dad. Wouldn't you like that?"

Malfoy inhales sharply. "_No_," he says, now sounding as scared as he looks. "I-- I need you to believe me. I can't work for-- for _him_ anymore...he wants to _kill_ me...my mother--"

"How do you know _I_ don't want to kill you?"

"You would have done it already."

Harry smiles and brings up his free hand to wrap around Malfoy's throat, pressing just hard enough that Malfoy will soon need to struggle for breath; the other boy gropes for his wand, but Harry steps in, effectively trapping Malfoy's hand between their bodies. "How do you know I don't want to draw it out? Maybe I want to see you suffer. Ever think about that?"

Malfoy replies with a high whining noise. His eyes are already bulging slightly.

"Did you know that I followed you around all year, but couldn't figure out what you were on about? I tried telling everyone that you were a Death Eater, but no one would believe me. You fixed that cabinet in the Room of Requirement; you tortured Madam Rosmerta; you almost _killed_ Katie Bell. Do you know Bill Weasley is going to be scarred forever because of Fenrir Greyback? You _stepped over his body_. Stupid moves, Malfoy, and no one would give a lick if you _rotted_ in prison."

Suddenly, Malfoy moves his other hand from Harry's arm to cover the hand choking him, just as Harry lets him free. Harry doesn't step away. Malfoy sucks in several gulps of air, colour flooding his face.

"Luckily, I'm not you. Do you have information for me?"

Malfoy nods, still rubbing his throat.

"What do you want in return?"

"Just p--protection," Malfoy says, swallowing hard. "I can't go back there."

_Back there_ means Voldemort and Snape and Greyback and every Death Eater that's not Malfoy's dad. Harry gets that, even though he's not sure he wants to let Malfoy off so easily.

"There's a war, Malfoy. You have to know that there are lots of people that mean more to me, and they willingly risk their lives. Protection's pretty valuable, considering I can't even have it for myself."

Malfoy chews on his lower lip, clearly distressed. "I don't want to kill anyone."

"Neither do I," Harry replies, softening just a little. It's his strength and his weakness, and he knows it. "So, what do you know?"

"Snape--"

Harry sucks in a breath through his teeth. All this trouble, and it's a message from _Snape_? Harry feels angry, feels murderous, feels--

"-- says he knows where a...a horcrux is. It's a...a cup? He says-- says it's too risky to tell you himself."

"Why the fuck would _he_ care what I'm doing? He _killed_ Dumbledore-- for _you_!"

Draco shakes his head. "It was planned. I have-- have a Pensieve memory, too. He wouldn't let me-- I haven't seen it, but he says it will explain everything. I can bring you that and tell you how to find the cup-- if...if you'll help."

God, this is exactly what Harry had been hoping for-- _more_ than. Even if he doesn't trust Malfoy, he needs this information. And Ron and Hermione aren't due to arrive yet, so they'll still be safe...

It's just him. Just him and Malfoy.

Harry takes a deep breath.

"Do you know where Godric's Hollow is?"

***

When Harry sets up camp again, it's not in the same spot as before because even the smallest change can throw off potential enemies. He's given Malfoy another hour, and if he's not there, Harry's going to the Burrow to drag Ron along and possibly rescue Hermione from the Grangers. He shouldn't even give Malfoy this hour; he's by himself, and what's to stop a whole army of Death Eaters from following?

He knows he doesn't want to die, but Harry trusts the same way Dumbledore trusted, and he knows where that got Dumbledore.

Malfoy shows up exactly on time, and he's still alone. There's a rucksack on his back, and his obviously expensive robes are tattered at the edges. If Malfoy hasn't been under Voldemort's thumb all this time, Harry has to wonder exactly where he's been hiding -- not with his mother, obviously.

"Terms," says Harry, the moment Malfoy's in earshot.

"Terms," Malfoy grimly agrees, taking off his bag. He shrugs his cloak off a moment later.

"I want the memory, and I want to see it now."

Malfoy nods.

"I also want any other information you have, and in exchange for that, I'll provide you with as much protection as I can afford anyone right now--"

All the tension seems to drain out of Malfoy's body, easy as that.

"_If_\--"

"If?"

"If you agree to come along on my mission. I can't keep an eye on you if you're hiding away somewhere, and there's nothing guaranteeing that you won't sneak back to Voldemort."

Malfoy's eyes go wide. "I wouldn't be here if I had a death wish, Potter!"

"I'm not going to let anyone get killed, Malfoy!" Harry shouts, exasperated.

"I'm sure you said that to Dumbledore, too!"

Harry's fist slams into Malfoy's stomach before he can even think about what he's doing; Malfoy crumples to the ground and Harry follows him down. The most infuriating part is Harry doesn't know if he threw that punch because he's mad at Malfoy or at himself. Before Harry can throw another one, though, Malfoy's wand is out and pointed at his chest. In disbelief, Harry stares at it, then back at Malfoy, eyes blinking back unshed tears.

"Stop it!" says Malfoy, sounding panicky and trapped. "I didn't come here to fight you, all right? I'm-- I'm sick of all that; I agree, all right? I agree, as long as you don't purposefully try to harm me, and you can hide my mother somewhere. I'll be her collateral...I'll stay with you as long as she's safe. Agreed?"

Harry stops. He'll have an extra body, someone with more insight into Voldemort's ways of doing things, and Malfoy won't do anything stupid with his mother under their protection, too. Unlike Ginny, who he won't risk, and Ron and Hermione, who he won't deter, Harry doesn't _care_ about Malfoy. Not at all.

Malfoy is shaking hard.

_Fuck it,_ thinks Harry. His gut is telling him that Malfoy is telling the truth, and his gut has been pretty accurate lately.

"Yeah. Agreed."

Malfoy slumps again, tucks away his wand and digs through his bag. He pulls out a small stone basin and a tiny, stoppered jar that he hands over to Harry. "From Snape."

The memory, if Harry studies it closely enough, looks _greasy_. Or maybe that's his imagination; either way, after seeing Slughorn's memory, he thinks he'll know if it's been doctored.

He hopes.

"C'mon, Malfoy," says Harry, pulling the cork from the jar. "You're coming with me."

***

Malfoy seems a little afraid of the memory, and Harry isn't sure if it's because he knows what it is, or because he's never been inside a Pensieve, or because they're inside someone else's head. Whatever the reason, the little protective wave that accompanies the realisation is _not on_, and Harry thinks Hermione's right about his hero complex.

Heroes are never long for the world, and Harry doesn't want that; he wants to be a person -- he wants to _live_.

Harry clenches his jaw and steps away from Malfoy, just as Snape comes into view. The three of them walk the path that Harry knows is the trip from the castle to the Forbidden Forest, and he has to stop himself from choking up and leaping in front of the headmaster when he comes into sight.

Malfoy, for his part, has crossed right on from drawn and grey to shaking and chalk-white. He looks like some old portrait of someone suffering from consumption or something like that.

"Severus," says Dumbledore, smiling, though Harry sees the shrivelled black hand and the tired look in the old man's eyes.

Snape is already shaking his head. "I can't do it. I can't...we'll have to find another way-- I'll break the vow, reveal my proper place--"

"_Severus_," the headmaster repeats, and his voice is more intimidating now. Harry and Malfoy both shiver involuntarily. "You will die if you break the vow you have made, and we both know it. You are no good to me dead."

"Neither are you! Draco is in far over his head, even he realises that now!"

"Has he spoken with you?"

"No." Both Snape and Malfoy look away. "I've known the boy his whole life, Professor, and I can tell."

"You see yourself in him." Dumbledore nods. "As do I, but we can't do anything until we know his plans exactly. We have to be prepared for every inevitable outcome, no matter how dreadful--"

"I won't _kill_ you!" Snape's voice reaches hysterical proportions Harry can only remember hearing when he spied on Snape's Pensieve and the time he called him a coward.

A coward...fuck. Harry, in a sudden, sickening flood of realisation, understands. Harry called him a coward when he was following orders. _Terrible_ orders, like the one Dumbledore issued him before they went to the cave.

_God..._

"They're both fools," Malfoy mutters, so softly that he might have meant to say it to himself.

"Don't." Harry's tone brooks no argument, and Malfoy's mouth snaps shut. He looks chagrined.

Dumbledore puts a hand on Snape's arm. "I'm dying anyway, Severus. The curse on Slytherin's ring-- It would be best to draw things out as long as possible, but soon events might necessitate Harry on one side, and you on the other."

A bush rustles, and all four people turn in the direction of the noise. Harry can just barely make out the huge outline of Hagrid, and suddenly, Harry _remembers_. This is why Hagrid saw them argue.

They're all Dumbledore's men, to the end; Harry glances over at Malfoy. All except him, but there's a chance for him yet.

The memory fades around them, and soon they're in the clearing again. Harry abruptly understands why Snape sent Malfoy to him; if Snape is deep undercover, Harry can only use Malfoy's skills.

"Will you teach me Occlumency?" asks Harry. Malfoy flinches, then nods.

***

There are a lot of things Harry never wanted Draco Malfoy to see, so he tries to empty his mind and block the invasion.

And for a minute, it works. Harry is so elated, his defences slip just enough that Malfoy slides in and rifles through his head.

His hands are running through Ginny's hair just before he kisses her; Harry distracts Goyle and paces in front of the Room of Requirement; Ron and Hermione's arms are around him; Gryffindors crush him as he catches the Snitch.

Dudley's friends shove him to the grass and surround him; Snape has him cornered, and shouts that he's the Prince; Malfoy, terrified, glances at him a split-second before his wand wavers; Dumbledore's body sails out of sight; Myrtle screams murder as Harry glances at himself in the mirror, blood-covered and horrified.

Ginny's waiting for him in his bed; Parvati and Lavender beckon to him; Cho has no tears in her eyes as she cries his name; Draco stares up at him, on his knees, completely at Harry's mercy--

"NO!" Harry shouts, and pushes Malfoy out of his head. When he comes to, he is still on his feet, though his throat is dry and he's covered in sweat.

There's a calculating look on Malfoy's face. "Well--"

"Shut up," Harry grits out.

"Rich fantasy life there, Potter. What would little Weasley say, if she knew you cared about her as much as every other thing you've wanked over. Just one masturbatory fantasy of many."

"Don't talk about things you can't understand, _Malfoy_. I care about her a lot," Harry replies, and it's the truth.

Malfoy tilts his head to one side. "But you think about me sometimes?"

Harry stares at his toes. "I've probably thought about every person I've ever met at one time or another."

"Dumbledore?"

Alarmed, Harry looks up. "No!"

"Hagrid? Trelawney? McGonagall?"

"You're sick, Malfoy."

"Any other blokes at all?"

"What?"

"I'm just seeing how exclusive this little club is."

Harry feels angry. He stomps away and sits near the fire, trying to think of _nothing_, but all he can remember is _Malfoy_, who he _knows_ is right next to him, breathing in his ear. Harry swallows hard.

"Maybe you want me to do the things your pristine little Weasley won't."

"Shut up." Harry's eyes are still squeezed tightly shut.

"Or maybe she _would_ do them, and you _wish_ she wouldn't because she's not the one you want doing those things."

"Shut _up_." He can feel Malfoy's hand on his knee, and he exhales, all the air going out of his body.

"Gonna push me away, Potter? Gonna send me to my death, or just go back to ignoring my existence like you used to?" The hand is now halfway up his thigh, and Harry is willing himself to breathe normally, willing his body to just _behave_.

"Wh-- why are you doing this?"

Malfoy laughs, softly, and it tickles Harry's ear. "Because I've finally figured out what's going to keep me alive." His hand is gone from Harry's leg, and then it's plunging past Harry's too-large waistband to wrap around an erection that _shouldn't exist_. Harry gasps and his legs go rigid; he almost sticks his trainer into the fire.

"F-- _fuck_," Harry moans. "D...don't do this. Stoppit, Malfoy." Malfoy's hand strokes him slowly, too slowly, and Harry feels his hips raise to meet the other boy's fist.

"Stop? Don't? Or don't stop?" The hand starts going faster, and faster, and faster.

Harry lets out a breathy whine, and his eyes fly open again. "Christ. Don't stop."

Malfoy's watching his face, but Harry's strangely unbothered by that. Maybe because Malfoy looks so _interested_. "Did you think that I'd be disgusted seeing that? Maybe I fought my way into your head so you wouldn't see me picturing _you_ on _your_ knees, sucking me under that cloak of yours. I've thought about that so many times, even when I was supposed to be thinking of more important things -- thinking up ways to humiliate you, to hurt you, to _fuck_ you."

"M-- Malfoy." Harry can barely keep rhythm with the hand wrapped around his cock, and he knows he's close to coming, loudly, embarrassingly, in the middle of a clearing near the place where his parents were murdered, wishing he were with anyone _but_ this person. And even as he thinks it, he knows it's a lie.

Harry shifts, moving as fast as he can without dislodging Malfoy's hand. He's on his knees, urging Malfoy up, so they're facing each other; Harry fumbles with Malfoy's robes, shoving his hand inside and dragging out Malfoy's prick, hard and hot and _weird_ in his hand; they're kissing and it's rough and wrong and _good_, panting into the other's mouth as Harry holds Malfoy's cock tight against his own.

It's fixation. It's hatred. It's harsh and real and nothing that Harry wants. It's broken and remade him again. It has him _so fucking hard_, and soon he's crying out and throbbing, shooting sticky come all over Malfoy and his hands.

He trembles and feels nauseated, but Harry doesn't close his eyes until he knows exactly what Draco Malfoy looks like when he's undone.

Malfoy wipes his hand on Harry's shirt and stands. His wand is trained at Harry's head before he can blink. Harry gulps.

"Mind blank enough now, Potter? _Legilimens._"

***

Hedwig finally returns the next day, Ron and Hermione following at sunset. If his friends are surprised to find Harry and Malfoy poring over maps, they do a damned fine job of hiding it.

"Ever hear of Little Hangleton?" Harry asks Hermione.

Hermione nods. "It's where V--Voldemort's father grew up, isn't it? I remember you saying..."

"Yes," says Harry. "Malfoy's taking us there. We leave tomorrow."

When Hermione kneels between them so she can see the maps, too, Malfoy only nods. He makes no mention of Mudbloods, or her inferiority, or anything else he's probably thinking. The fact that he says nothing, though, helps -- at least a little.

Harry stands and brushes dirt from his knees, so he can help Ron set up an extra tent Mr Weasley has borrowed from one of his employees.

"Can we trust him?" Ron asks in a low voice.

"I hope so. I think so."

Ron sighs and looks resigned. "You were right about him before," he admits. "I suppose I'll have to accept this isn't just obsession."

Harry pauses. "I never said that."

**END**


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